


Only Once

by babystellagibson



Category: The Fall (TV), The Fall (UK 2013)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5756911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babystellagibson/pseuds/babystellagibson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stella Gibson, at 22, discovering her sexuality. My headcanon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> * * * indicates a change of location or the passing of time

Stella Gibson is not the kind of woman to make the same mistake twice. Her mind is quick and sharp, and works like a computer on almost every decision she makes, calculating the possible outcomes, the risks, the benefits. It doesn’t take long. Her emotions sometimes get in the way, but not frequently. Emotions are a funny thing; they don’t work logically, and lay siege to the actions of even the most pragmatic of people.

She sighs deeply into the darkness, listening to the rise and fall of the breath of the sleeping man beside her, and feels a small, almost imperceptible tinge of emptiness. She is satisfied, generally, with every aspect of her life. She always ensures that all of her needs are met, and she always has a goal to work towards. Still, this tinge is enough to set into motion the clockwork of her thoughts, each cog turning the next. 

No, Stella Gibson is not the kind of woman to make the same mistake twice, and one mistake that she has strived to ensure that she will never make again, is getting her heart broken. The pain, the anguish, the longing, the desperation… but above all, the complete loss of control. She knows all about how to manipulate people, and knows very well that people can be manipulated into doing almost anything. Unfortunately, it is not possible to make somebody love you, at least, not in a way that will last. 

She has been in love, once and once only, and that love broke her heart, and she resolved there and then that she would never, ever offer up that vulnerability again. Now, at 3am in a Belfast hotel room, twenty years later, she feels her mind slide into the past, completely against her will and much to her chagrin...

_________________________________

Hornsey Police Station, Crouch End  
March, 1993

Stella Gibson, 22 years old, sits at her cramped little desk in Hornsey Police Station, scribbling fervently at her paperwork. Her sandy blonde hair is pulled back neatly as is protocol, and she wears a rather large, round pair of reading glasses. Her expression is serious and focused. She’s one year on to the police force, and has only just been reassigned from solely desk work to patrol work, and the importance of documentation and proper procedure is not something she takes lightly, unlike her absolute fool of a partner, Jenkins. She’s taken on his share of the administration work, but it’s really no skin off her nose, since it’s quicker for her to do it properly than for him to stuff it up like the great bumbling idiot that he is. 

‘PC Gibson,’ a melodic voice says, jolting her out of her focus. She hadn’t noticed the pair of hands placed on her desk, and her eyes travel up the sleeves of the sharp, black, shoulder-padded jacket to the caramel face of DSI Hunter. 

‘Yes Ma’am?’ she responds, pen still in hand, ready to dive back into her work at any second.

‘I’m going to need a right-hand man for the duration of this investigation. I’d like it to be you.’ says Hunter. ‘I’ve been here for two days, and you’ve already distinguished yourself as the best PC here. Don’t disappoint me.’ 

‘I won’t, ma’am,’ Stella says, her mind ticking away, calculating how best to use this to her advantage, but DSI Maria Hunter has already turned on her heel and is walking away. 

* * *

Stella glances over at Hunter from her seat, pondering, watching her drive. How old is she? 40? Maybe not, she looks younger. Her eyes are light brown and expressive, her skin the colour of warm, milky coffee, her nose ski-jump, her lips dark and full. What is she, Italian? 

‘I’m Spanish,’ Hunter says into the silence, and Stella blinks in disbelief. Hunter glances at her and catches her alarmed expression. ‘A lot of people wonder.’ 

‘You don’t have an accent?’ Stella probes, choosing not to mention the fact that Hunter has just managed to ascertain exactly what she was thinking without asking a single question. 

‘I was born in Madrid. My parents brought me over here when I was a baby. Judging by your accent, I’d say you’re not far from where you grew up?’ 

‘Where did you grow up?’ Stella answers the question with another question. She had been hoping to be assigned to a more glamorous precinct, or at least somewhere further away from Harringay, but Hornsey had been under staffed and under fire for never having hired a female PC. She just happens to be the first. 

‘Chiswick,’ Hunter replies, her face expressionless. ‘We’re here,’ she says. They’ve pulled up outside a red brick semi-detached house. It looks just like any other semi-detached house, really, except that it’s now been tainted by death, forever. The two women exit the car, and Stella follows Hunter in, pushing down the nerves rising in her stomach. 

The house is eerily quiet, and Hunter carefully steps over the markers that have been placed around as she pulls a pair of gloves on, heading for the kitchen. The smell of the blood assaults Stella's nostrils and makes her stomach turn. She's never been to a crime scene like this before. She’s seen a couple of stabbings, but nothing like this. There is dried blood all over the floor and the table. A lamp sits at the edge of it, covered in bloody smudges, the too-short cable straining from the power socket in the wall. Strewn about the floor are an assortment of surgical-tool shaped gaps in the blood. The tools themselves have been bagged up and taken away, of course. She’s seen all the crime scene photos, including those with the body in them, but nothing could have quite prepared her for this. Still, she keeps her composure intact. She can feel Hunter’s eyes on her every few seconds, judging her reaction. 

‘Quite the mess,’ Hunter says, carefully stepping over another marker and peering at the place where the surgical tools had lain. ’This killer is clearly suffering from a rather severe psychosis,’ 

‘I’d say his victims are the ones doing the suffering…’ Stella remarks, her brow furrowed.

‘You assume the killer is a man,’ Hunter catches Stella’s gaze, a single eyebrow slightly quirked. 

’Statistics show that more than 80% of all crimes in the world are committed by men, ma’am,’ she responds politely, holding Hunter’s gaze. Hunter’s lips curl into a light smile, and she turns back to the table, padding around it and peering at it. 

’I wonder whether this victim was killed first and then operated on, or operated on whilst she was still alive,’ Hunter remarks, crouching down and peering underneath the table. ‘On the one hand, it would be easier for the killer to have forced her to climb on to the table and then begun operating… on the other, she would have struggled more, made more noise, needed to be constrained, if she was still alive… unless she was drugged…’ 

Stella falls silent for the rest of their time in the house, watching, listening and learning as Hunter’s mind works, eliminating possibilities, musing over what was done. She is entirely detached from the horror of it all, and seems to see it only logically, without a hint of emotion. Stella, on the other hand, can’t seem to stem her thoughts of the woman who was killed. Her name was Julie Grigson, and she had been a few years above at school. They had never spoken to each other, but Stella distinctly remembers watching her perform in one of the school plays. It was A Midsummer Night's Dream, if she remembers correctly...

‘Are you alright, PC Gibson?’ Hunter snaps her out of her reverie, peering at her with concern and peeling her gloves off. It’s already time to go. 

‘Fine,’ Stella nods, peeling her own gloves off. 

In the car, on the way back, they are both silent. Stella watches red-bricks, trees, parks flash by, thinking about poor Julie Grigson, trying to process what she’s just seen; organise it into a place in her mind where it won’t bother her.

‘I threw up,’ Hunter says.

‘What?’ Stella asks, turning to look at her superior. 

‘At my first serious murder scene. The smell got me. I wasn’t even four paces into the room before I made a break for it and lost my lunch. I’m impressed with your resolve, Stella,’ she smiles in approval, and Stella smiles back, glad of it. ‘Tell me… do you like whisky?’


	2. Chapter 2

Stella pores over the toxicology report for Julie Grigson, which has just come in. High levels of Propofol… which means, she was anaesthetised for her ‘operations’. This puts Stella’s mind somewhat at ease… at least she didn’t have to feel any of it. At least. More and more, she’s beginning to believe that the killer may be a medical professional. It would explain how he got hold of the surgical tools, and further the Propofol, which is not available for the public to purchase. Or he’s not, and he’s stealing them from a hospital. She makes a note to call all the local hospitals and ask about missing supplies. She decides that she'll mention this to Hunter later on, when they go for their drink at Ronnie Scott’s. She of course agreed straight away to go along, when Hunter asked. She wants to pick Hunter’s brain, absorb as much as she possibly can, whilst she can. 

‘Oi oi Gibson,’ says Jenkins’ voice from behind her.

‘Hi, Steven,’ she responds, not looking up from the report.

‘How’s being teacher’s pet?’ he teases, prodding at her.

‘How’s being painfully jealous?’ she responds flatly. 

‘Oh, don’t be like that. I’m not jealous anyway, everyone knows why she picked you, little blonde thing like you are, and don’t think Constable Dunn hasn’t noticed you pinning your uniform… he’s not impressed,’ 

‘Firstly,’ Stella spins her chair around before continuing her sentence ‘I am not a ‘little blonde thing’, I am a woman. Secondly, I couldn’t give a stuff what that old coot Dunn thinks, these uniforms are completely unbecoming without alteration and I will not walk around looking like a bag lady. Thirdly, I’m not sure what either of those things have to do with DSI Hunter choosing me to aid her in her investigation,’ 

‘What, haven’t you heard?’ Jenkins exclaims with glee, clearly pleased to know something she doesn’t. ‘Hunter is a great big lezzer!’ 

‘So?’ she responds calmly, as her mind races inwardly. The drink… she agreed to go for a drink… 

‘So, of course she’d pick you, you’re the only woman here, ‘cept for Mrs. Dunn, and god knows she’s about a hundred years past her prime…’ 

Stella rolls her eyes and turns back to her desk; she’s had enough of Jenkins. She can’t stop thinking about that drink. Jenkins continues to tease. ’I’d be feeling right sick, if I were you! Dirty great dyke like that with her sights on you…’ 

‘There is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay, Jenkins,’ Stella replies curtly, ’now if you don’t mind, I’ve got lots of work to do.’ 

* * *

She totters into the jazz club in her new pair of heels, hair neatly coiffed, black cocktail dress on and wide-lapelled grey coat in tow, peering around, looking for Hunter. The only lights are low and red, which makes her feel like she’s in a darkroom, and the air is thick with cigarette smoke. People are huddled around little wooden tables and booths drinking whisky or wine, and the woman on stage sings what Stella recognises to be Fever by Peggy Lee, backed by a quartet. She can’t see Hunter anywhere, so she slips into a booth and watches the woman sing, breathily and seductively. 

‘Can I get you anything?’ asks a waitress, appearing at the table as if from nowhere. Stella opens her mouth to respond and is interrupted.

‘Two double Lagavulins, please. Rocks on the side,’ Hunter’s voice comes from behind her, and she turns to see her superior standing there in a rather marvellously tailored grey dress, which clings to her in all the right places. Her dark hair is out of the pulled back do it was in earlier, and she’s swept it to one side. It flows down just past her collarbone. A neat black jacket is folded over a toned, lithe, coffee-coloured arm, and she slides into the booth like liquid. She seems infinitely more relaxed than Stella has seen her before, and it makes her feel on edge. Was there truth to what Jenkins said, or was he just teasing? ‘Hello,’ Hunter says, her eyes passing over Stella’s dress. 

‘Hello, ma’am,’ Stella responds.

‘Please, call me Maria,’ she says, smiling warmly and offering a crisp twenty pound note which seems to come from nowhere up to the waitress, without taking her eyes off of Stella. 

’I thought you’d like to know, the toxicology report on Julie Grigson came in,’

‘And?’

‘High levels of Propofol…’

‘Hm,’ Maria responds, her eyes suddenly serious, her brain clearly ticking away. 

‘First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to call every hospital within a fifty mile radius and ask about missing supplies,’ 

‘Good idea. You should also call doctor’s surgeries; they sometimes have anaesthetic on hand.’ 

‘Do you think he’s a medical professional?’

‘No. The incisions are far too sloppy. Not a practised hand.’ says Maria, glancing over at the singer and tapping her finger on the table to the beat of the beginning of the next song, which Stella doesn’t recognise. ’Do you like jazz?’ Maria asks, completely changing the subject, which throws Stella.

‘My father loved jazz…’ she smiles, memories of him playing his records for her flashing through her mind. ‘He had a Duke Ellington record that he played so much, he wore it out,’ 

‘Is that so?’ Maria asks, pressing her hands together and leaning into them, her gaze boring into Stella, who feels exposed suddenly. She never talks about her father. She can’t answer this question with a question, so she’s forced to speak more. 

‘Yes, it stopped working. So I saved up my pocket money and bought him a new one for Father’s Day that year. I was only six.’ 

’Sounds like you were very fond of him,’ Maria smiles, and the waitress reappears with two neat little glasses with thick bottoms, each nearly half full with dark liquid, and one glass filled with ice. ‘Thank you, keep the change,’ says Maria, waving the waitress away. She deftly plucks a single ice cube out of the ice glass, and drops it into her whisky before swirling it around. Stella brings her glass up to her nose and sniffs, and the scent makes her eyes water. Maria reaches out and gently pulls Stella’s wrist down so that the glass is resting on her chest. ‘Try now,’ she says, and Stella breathes in. The scent is suddenly rich and complex, each note distinguishable, and not at all overpowering. 

‘Oh,’ Stella manages, at once taken aback by the gesture and embarrassed by her faux pas. She watches Maria take a sip from her glass, and follows suit. The liquid is strong and stings the back of her throat. She sets it down, blinking, and feels Maria’s gaze burning into her. ‘So if he’s not a medical professional,’ she says, trying to shift the subject back to work ‘how is he getting access to things like Propofol and surgical tools,’ 

‘I have no doubt you’ll know before midday tomorrow,’ Maria deflects the question. ‘Here, this will help with the burn…’ she says, and she plucks a few more ice cubes out of the ice glass and drops them into Stella’s drink. 

‘Thank you,’ Stella smiles politely. She is more and more certain by the second that what Jenkins said was true, and it’s grating on her, twisting her stomach into knots. She looks at Maria. She really is a beautiful woman. Surely she’s not a lesbian? Every lesbian Stella has ever come across has had short, spiky hair, and dressed and talked like a man. Still, she thinks, people come in all kinds of packages, she should know that. Maybe she's met plenty of feminine lesbians, and just hasn't known it. 

’Tell me, what made you want to become a police officer?’ Maria asks, sipping at her whisky.

‘Finishing my degree,’ Stella responds, also drinking, a little more this time. The ice has helped already. 

‘You have a degree?’ 

‘Anthropology.’ 

‘How interesting. How did a degree in anthropology inspire you to become a police officer?’ 

‘I wrote my thesis on crime, focusing on the differences in crimes committed by men and women, and the victimisation rates. What I found out during my research disturbed me to the point that I had to ask myself: what can I do to help? The most practical step seemed to be to join the police.’ 

‘What did you find out?’

‘The worst one, I would say, was the generalised statistic I came out with when I did the maths, that roughly 90% of all homicides are committed by men, and that roughly 80% of sex-related or domestic homicide victims are women.’

‘So you want to protect women,’ 

‘Absolutely,’ Stella replies without hesitation. 

‘That’s very admirable,’ Maria smiles, lifting her drink to her lips, never breaking eye contact. 

‘What about you?’ Stella asks, feeling, once again, very exposed. She is suddenly acutely aware that she is not dealing with a normal person. Maria has now twice manipulated her into revealing things about herself, and usually she manages to stay tight-lipped around others, especially those that she works with. She's very wary of revealing too much about herself.

’Same reason as you. To protect women from the tyranny of men.’ she raises her glass subtly before taking another drink. She holds Stella’s gaze for a little while, running her finger around the top of her glass, and Stella finds herself quite unable to speak. ‘I find you very intriguing,’ Maria breathes, a mischievous smile on her lips, and Stella is shocked when she feels her heart skip a beat. Could she be… attracted to this woman? Surely not… could she? She’s had plenty of encounters with men, but the thought of being with a woman has never even crossed her mind. She has always viewed women as sacred, superior beings, never as sexual objects, always finding the titillation men impose upon women to be degrading and crass. She realises she’s yet to respond to Maria’s comment, and she lets out an incredulous sigh, dropping her gaze down into her drink. ‘Does that make you uncomfortable?’ Maria asks. 

‘No,’ Stella replies, bringing her drink up to her lips, and her gaze back up to meet Maria’s.


	3. Chapter 3

Stella feels giddy. She finds herself wondering what it might be like to kiss Maria. What Maria’s skin might feel like at her fingertips. This is odd, an odd feeling, an odd collection of thoughts that she’s never experienced before. She is both excited and terrified, all at once. ‘Excuse me, I need the bathroom,’ she says, shortly before hopping up and making a beeline for the ladies’ room. 

She pushes the door open, and finds herself facing her own reflection in a large, ornate mirror. Thoughts of Maria, her skin, her hair, her eyes, flash through her mind at an alarming rate. She stares into her own pale blue eyes, trying to file the thoughts away as she had with those of the murder scene, and just as she’s getting a hold of herself, the door opens behind her and Maria strides in purposefully, in all her feminine glory. At once, Stella finds herself up against the wall, hands on her waist, extremely soft lips grazing her neck, fresh and sweet perfume making her head spin.

’Tell me that you want me to kiss you,’ Maria breathes in her ear hotly, and Stella feels her body react involuntarily in all the right places. Yes… she’s definitely attracted to this woman.

‘I want you to kiss me,’ she whispers, pushing her body closer to Maria’s.

‘Good,’ Maria says, pulling away and flashing that mischievous smile again, and before Stella can even begin to respond, she’s gone.

‘Fuck,’ Stella breathes, frozen in place, trying to process what’s just happened. Her body is tingling with desire and she can’t quite catch her breath. Another woman walks into the bathroom, and Stella springs into action, not wanting to look like some kind of mental case. She slips out of the door and heads back down the corridor to the main area, brushing at her dress, focusing on her breathing.

Maria is leaning on the table languidly, completely relaxed, watching the band play. Stella slides back into the booth, and there’s already a fresh glass of whisky waiting for her. 

‘My place isn’t far from here,’ says Maria, still watching the band. ‘Drink that, then let’s go,’ 

‘To your place?’ Stella asks, her eyes wide. She’s terrified. Maria turns her gaze on to Stella, and she can feel herself being assessed. 

‘Yes. If you want.’ 

‘I don’t know if I…’ Stella trails off, uncharacteristically inarticulate. She doesn’t know if what? If she wants to? Yes, she does want to. If she’s attracted to women? Maybe. If she’s a lesbian? That thought is alarming, because it challenges her identity, and her perception of herself, which she had thought was solid. 

‘Finish your drink. Then let me know what you’d like to do,’ Maria smiles, and turns back to watch the band. Stella stares down at the whisky for a few seconds, then she picks it up and knocks the whole glass back.

‘Let’s go,’ she says decisively, the alcohol burning her throat and carving a path of warmth right into her very core. 

* * *

Stella follows Maria up the stairs to her Soho flat, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She is simultaneously extremely terrified and extremely excited as she watches Maria unlock the door, and follows her inside to what is probably the nicest flat she has ever seen. Hardwood floors, high ceilings, sloping, attic-like whitewashed walls, minimal, neat, strategically placed furniture… it’s all perfect. 

‘Come on…’ says Maria, and Stella realises that she’s been standing there like a lemon, gawking at her surroundings. She steps forward and Maria closes the front door, then immediately pushes her up against it. She moves in close, her hands at Stella’s wrists, pinning them against the door. Stella would never, ever stand for this with a man, but with Maria it’s different; she feels safe. She leans in for the kiss, and Maria pulls herself just out of reach, smiling gently. Stella returns the smile, enjoying the little game, and tries again, only to be disappointed. Maria releases her wrists and walks away, heading towards a doorway to the left of the room. She pauses at it, and turns back to look at Stella, who hasn’t moved. ‘Come here,’ she says, inclining her head towards the doorway before walking in. 

Stella follows, and finds herself in a decidedly neat, uncomplicated bedroom. A huge bed with grey silk sheets and a large collection of black and grey pillows takes centre stage, and out of the window she can see the softly lit treetops of Soho Square, the silhouettes of numerous buildings beyond. Her gaze is pulled from the window as Maria pulls her towards the bed, and her body tenses as Maria’s hands find her hips, sliding them up slowly until one reaches the zip at the side of her dress. Then, she pulls it down, staring into Stella’s eyes as her dress falls into a heap at her feet. Stella returns the gaze, unfazed by the fact that she is now stood before Maria in her underwear. 

‘Have you ever been with a woman before?’ Maria asks nonchalantly, her gaze flickering over Stella’s matching white lace ensemble as she gently runs a single finger down the centre of her chest. 

‘No,’ Stella replies, giving up nothing of her boundless fear and anticipation. Maria smiles, and pulls Stella close, and finally their lips meet, and the absolute softness of Maria’s hot, whisky-tinged mouth makes Stella’s head spin, and she can feel something clicking into place, except it’s less like a click, and more like an eruption of a long-dormant volcano of feelings she hadn’t even realised she’d had, bubbling away beneath the crust of her existence. She relaxes into the kiss, sliding her hands inside Maria’s jacket and around her waist, pulling and pressing their bodies together, and Maria’s hands are in her hair, controlling the kiss, and then on her shoulders, gently pushing her down to the bed, and then Maria is crawling over her, and she is struck again by the smell of her perfume, sweet and heady, and Maria is pinning her wrists above her head, hovering above her, looking down at her, searching her eyes. 

Stella looks up at the woman above her, her silky dark hair hanging down, her lashes long and black, her eyes huge and brown like a dewy young doe’s, her nose perfect, her cheekbones sculpted and free of the fat of youth, her lips full and dark… Stella finds herself completely lost in the beauty, intoxicated by it. Maria’s eyes roam Stella’s features in quite the same way, all the while with a mischievous smile just barely hinting at the corners of her mouth, her expression knowing as she feels Stella’s body go lax and her face soften, her lips parting as her gaze flickers between Maria’s eyes and lips.

‘You are, unequivocally, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,’ Maria breathes, before kissing Stella again, delicately this time, as if she might break. Stella strains to kiss her harder, to pull her closer, but Maria keeps hold of her wrists tightly, planting soft little kisses on Stella’s lips as she struggles. ‘And the most impatient,’ she laughs softly. 

‘Please,’ Stella finds the word escaping her lips before she can even consider holding it back. She’s scarcely pleaded for anything in her life, let alone sex, but she feels completely overwhelmed by desire, desperate to kiss Maria harder, to tear off every last item of her clothing, to feel her bare skin against her own. Lewd and lascivious thoughts that she has never had before flood her mind, and she is at once shocked and aroused by every last one. 

‘Patience…’ Maria whispers the word long and slow, releasing one of Stella’s wrists and gently trailing her fingers down her arm, her neck, her chest, her navel… her fingers broach white lace, and an involuntary shiver of anticipation rushes through Stella’s body. ‘What do you want?’ Maria asks.

‘I want to take off your clothes… I want to feel your skin on mine…’ Stella breathes the words, her heart pounding again.

‘Good,’ Maria states her approval, rewarding Stella with a kiss. Stella might be impatient, but she very much wants to play this game. She knows that asking for what she really wanted in that moment wouldn’t have flown. She hardly wants to admit it to herself, but she’s enjoying relinquishing control to this curiously powerful woman. Somehow, she just trusts her, in a way she’s never trusted anybody before, especially not men. She feels completely safe. Maria slides off the bed, and Stella props herself up on her elbows and watches intently as Maria shrugs her coat off, then sits down on the bed and gathers her hair up in one hand. ‘Unzip me,’ she directs, and Stella obliges, slowly pulling the zip down to reveal more smooth, coffee-coloured skin. Maria stands, and turns to face Stella before slowly stepping out of her dress. She’s not wearing any underwear. 

Stella stares intently, her eyes roaming the soft lines and the neat, sculpted curves of Maria’s body, and Maria crawls back on to the bed, her fingers finding the catch on Stella’s bra and deftly flicking it open. She casts the bra away, and then she’s tugging at the last little bit of fabric preserving Stella’s modesty, and then Stella finds herself quite naked. Maria pauses for a moment and stares, and Stella feels more laid bare than she ever has in her life. Yet, Maria’s staring is entirely different… it lacks the hunger, the animal quality that she has felt from men’s gazes upon her naked body, but there is something else entirely to it, a sort of depth, appreciation, passion that she’s never seen. Then, Maria is kissing her, deeper, hotter, harder than before as she presses her body down upon Stella’s, and the feeling is unlike anything Stella has ever experienced; it’s silk on silk, softness squared. 

Maria just barely pulls the kiss apart, their faces still so close, and her gaze finds Stella’s. ‘Are you sure you want this?’ 

‘Yes,’ Stella responds immediately, with great emphasis. 

She’s never been surer of anything in her life.


End file.
